D. Brent Miller

June 9, 2012

A great Main Street Diner, Richmond, Indiana

Breakfast Ride

“Let’s meet for breakfast some place.” The deal was made. My brother, Brian, would be riding from Indianapolis, and I from the Cincinnati area. We try to find a place that is somewhat equidistant from each other. It turns out our first choice from my Google search was closed, but the backup place was only four or five blocks away.

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I had read a couple of reviews about the Main Street Diner, and it sounded like my kind of place. Nothing fancy on the outside, but inside, you find a warm friendly atmosphere, maybe a little eclectic contemporary with great service, AND, the food delicious.

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When I walked in the door and spotted the seating–counter or a booth–I knew this was my kind of place. In a way, it was very nostalgic like the old diners, but yet modern. Clearly, someone had put some effort into making this a nice diner experience.

The waitress, Rebecca, was a joy. She made our breakfast outing a delight, engaging us in conversation like she expects us back as part of the family. My brother ordered off the menu, but I had to try the special, Mushroom-Spinach-Cheese Omelet with toast and hash browns. It also came with a fruit cup. And it was delicious—mouth watering and perfect. The cook, maybe I should call him chef, made the rounds to make sure each diner was pleased with their meals.

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Brian and I devoured our food, and afterwards, poured over a couple of maps of far away places like Pennsylvania where our family came from in the early 1800s, and Missouri, where the BMW MOA rally will be held in July.

Finally, we suited up and headed to our respective homes down somewhat familiar highways. As for the Main Street Diner, I think we have found our place for future breakfasts in Richmond.

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See you on the highway.

Brent

June 7, 2012

Roads that intrigue

Are you intrigued by roads? Highways that seem to go off into the distance? Are you compelled to see what is down this road or that one?

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I was talking with a friend about differences in roads. He lives in Montenegro, Europe. I’m here in the Cincinnati, Ohio area of the USA. It was my first Facebook video chat, and it was wonderful to finally see his face and hear his voice.

Goran says travel in Europe is quite different than the USA. The roads there are not like the United States where highways can be straight as an arrow, like out west, and you can see for miles. European roads are through mountains and valleys. The curves can reduce speed and require more time to travel. Our conversation gave me pause for thought about highways and roads, and their intrigue.

I have been known to turn down a road because it looks interesting. Where does it go? Where does it connect or come out? What will I see along its path?

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Does it have lines? Lines? Yes, lines. Major highways and most roads have lane markings. But those rural country roads like Halls Creek Road (top photo) have no lines. To my knowledge and according to the Warren County map, it is such a minor road to serve the locals, that the county has not given it a County Route number. It is only known by its name. And of course, it meanders along Halls Creek, from whence its name comes.

What about gravel roads? Well, I’ve never seen anybody attempt lane markings on a gravel road. Would be kind of silly, wouldn’t it. But, that gravel road goes somewhere. A friend in Nevada, J. Brandon, says, “We have state routes that are gravel!”

That’s the intrigue of roads. There is a history and a purpose. And, they carry us forward to sights and sounds we might never have seen before. Roads are much more than a convenience for travel, they connect people to places and other people. They connect history and stories. And of course, they take us on our adventure.

If you want to get somewhere as fast as possible, take the interstate highway. But if you want to see anything, take a road less traveled. See where it leads.

See you on the highway.

Brent

May 31, 2012

Considering things most important

It’s been about a week since our neighborhood was rocked with very sad, tragic news. One of our own took his own life. I had talked with him the day before, and I never suspected this was possible. He had everything going for him despite a bump in the road. I learned of the news as I was returning home and witnessed about six or seven emergency vehicles in front of his house. I pulled over and stood with four other neighbors on the corner as officials went about their grim tasks.

The neighborhood immediately reacted in shock. How? Why? Who is to blame? Questions that will forever go unanswered, for only he knows the exact reason, the tipping point that all was hopeless.

Why does it take someone’s death to reflect on relationships, family, neighbors and community? It always does. We say, “I’m going to try harder.” “I’m going to try to repair that relationship.” “I’m going to reach out more often.” “I’m going to be there when my neighbor needs me.” Some of us will actually do that. Some will just fade back into comfortable thinking—old habits. It’s human nature.

When the news spread through our neighborhood on that fateful day, I must have kicked into my pastoral mode. Yes. I spent time in the pulpit—eight years as a volunteer youth leader and five years as a candidate for the ministry in the United Methodist Church, four in the pulpit of a small country church in Oregon, Illinois. I understand shock and grief. I understand death and dying, and the hardest to understand is suicide.

There were a couple of impromptu gatherings of neighbors, and I made the rounds to check on individuals, especially the four who stood on the corner with me. My approach was simply that of concerned neighbor and friend, my current role. I left the pulpit in 1989—more than 20 years ago. I’ve never stopped caring for others and being a good neighbor.

I subscribe to Garrison Keillor’s Writer’s Almanac, and the other day, he wrote, on the occasion of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s birthday:

… [Emerson] wrote in his journal: “I have sometimes thought that, in order to be a good minister, it was necessary to leave the ministry….”

I understand that. I left the pulpit because I discovered lay ministry to be more powerful and more meaningful. Ministers and pastors are paid to do their job. I could watch people’s behavior change right in front me me upon learning that I was a pastor. Lay people minister from the heart. That’s where being a good neighbor comes in.

I am going to try harder to connect with neighbors through our impromptu gatherings, events and social media like Facebook. Time will tell if our neighborhood will rally in support of each other, or if we fall back into old ways.

It’s important to let others know you care, and that nothing, nothing is hopeless.

Rest in peace, my friend. You are missed.

Brent